


'Get out of my sight, Sherlock Holmes.'

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt Sherlock, I'm Sorry, M/M, No Smut, Past Relationship(s), Somewhat, Sortof, WBH wrote some chapters, and glass, and i'm really proud of it, because i don't think many people see it there, because there was canon johnlock but then sherlock died so, but now it's mostly me because i love doing this, canon at the begining sortof, hahahahahaaaaaa, his back is infected, i don't plan to kill anyone besides mary, i don't ship johnlock sexually idk i just feel like sherlock would make it really awkward, i really love writing angst, i tortured him in multiple ways, i was researching torture, i'm reposting oma from WAYHL, interesting browser history, it also works as a stand alone, it was canon TEH at the start, it's literally all angst, it's post johnlock, like near the begining, like really hurt, mary is awful, no fluff except maybe at the end, this is really fun to write, wait i did kill moriarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:14:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sherlock comes back from the dead. 
John tells him to get.
Mary makes her move and Sherlock regrets ever thinking John would be okay without him.
tw: torture, blood, depressing thoughts, generally really sad, Sherlock being wounded in various ways, infections, etc.





	1. One word is all it took

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [...Why are you holding lube?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7916551) by [Bobcatmama (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Bobcatmama), [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> i'm reposting this from WAYHL because i'm really happy with it and i don't think people read WAYHL because of the tags(understandably) 
> 
> also WBH is amazing go check out his works he's a far better author than i 
> 
> he wrote a few of the chapters in here so he gets a bit of credit
> 
> (this is a work of fiction and in no way depicts real life events any similarities between people places or names are purely coincidental and not my fault fuck off also the sherlock tv show is not mine as much as id love to have it so i could make this ship/shit canon)

“John, John what are you doing, get off me!”

“Ha, no! YOU DIED I AM MORE THAN PISSED SHERLOCK!”

“JOHN, STOP THAT!”

“SHERLOCK, I SWEAR TO GOD!”

“MY FACE IS NOT A PUNCHING BAG!”

“IT IS NOW YOU BLOODY IDIOT! ONE WORD, SHERLOCK, ONE WORD TO LET ME KNOW YOU WERE ALIVE, THAT’S ALL IT WOULD HAVE TAKEN! JUST ONE WORD!”

“So..are you keeping the mustache...?”

“I SWEAR TO GOD! MARY LIKES IT, IT STAYS!”

“Mary doesn't like it, John. BESIDES, YOU LOVE ME MORE THAN YOU LOVE HER!”

“YOU WERE DEAD FOR TWO FUCKING YEARS, SHERLOCK! I MOVED ON!” John pauses to take a breath then huff it back out at Sherlock. “OH, OH, YEAH I REALLY MISSED THIS! ONE WORD, SHERLOCK AND I WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE!”

“I COULDN’T ALLOW YOU TO KNOW, JOHN!”

“WHY THE BLOODY HELL NOT? OH, IS IT STILL A SECRET? SO SORRY! ONE WORD IS ALL IT WOULD HAVE TAKEN!”

“JOHN, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

“I THINK I DO, SHERLOCK! I THINK I DO! YOU JUST DON’T CARE ABOUT ME ANYMORE, DO YOU? YOU JUST USED ME TO YOUR ADVANTAGE AND NOW I’M HISTORY. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!”

There’s an eerie silence between the crowd before Sherlock starts back in.

“That’s not true, Jo-”

“THEN WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE ALIVE? YOU... YOU LET ME GRIEVE! I TALKED TO YOU! I ACTUALLY TALKED TO A GRAVE BUT TURNS OUT I WAS JUST TALKING TO A ROCK! MY MENTAL HEALTH HAS SUFFERED MORE WITH YOU DYING THAN AT WAR WATCHING HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE DIE SO DON’T TELL ME YOU CARE! NEVER SAY THAT WHEN YOU SAW ME SUFFER SO MUCH, SHERLOCK!”

“John...You must understand. I did this because I had to protect you and I am truly, deeply sorry that I hurt you”

“YOU HURT ME MORE THAN YOU CAN APOLOGIZE FOR, SHERLOCK! THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN SAY NOW TO FIX WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME! NEVER COME IN MY SIGHT AGAIN, SHERLOCK HOLMES! I MOVED ON! I FUCKING MOVED ON AND NOW YOU’VE COME BACK AND I JUST... I HAVE MOVED ON AND THAT’S FINAL! AM I CLEAR?”

Sherlock's gaze drops from John to the ground as he nods. "I am truly sorry, John Watson. I never meant to do this much harm." And with that, and the faint swoosh of his trench coat, he's walking away.

"And goodbye to you, Sherlock Holmes." John says emotionlessly. Once Sherlock is out of sight though, he lets out a sigh and slumps into Mary. " I am sorry, my dear."

Sherlock continues to wander aimlessly throughout the streets, staring straight ahead. He has no idea where he's going or what he's doing but if it will please John, then so be it.

John continues to lean on Mary, letting her lead them out to a cab. It was a long night, and John sighed. he lied. He hadn't moved on, never had and doubted he ever would. Sherlock... Sherlock truly was the love of his life, and John fucked up badly.

Sherlock ends up near his flat, though he's not sure where. It's in a back alley though, so he figures he's safe. John Watson, has let him go. Now what?  
John falls asleep in the cab ride home. He hasn't dreamed in the two years Sherlock was dead aside from nightmares of that terrible time, so this dream is a bit of a surprise. It was quickly turning into a nightmare though. It was Sherlock, standing in the middle of an empty room,and he started bleeding from his eyes and mouth. John surged forward, but something was holding him back. John was forced to watch as Sherlock died, unable to help. Sherlock collapsed. John sat bolt upright on the cab seat, and Mary turned to him with a puzzled glance.

“Nightmare?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock falls asleep in that alley. He doesn't dream. It's just not something that Sherlock Holmes has ever done. Too human. But tonight is different. He's standing in the flat, and John is there. He starts to ask why but that's when John starts shouting. Shouting about how Sherlock hurt him. About how he was never really his friend and how he won't ever be good enough. It goes on until finally, finally, he's awakened by someone shouting at him to get out of the alley.

John is drenched in a cold sweat the entire ride home. Sherlock's back, but is he okay? What happened? John didn't mean anything he had said in the restaurant. He was just thrown off by the arrival and subsequent interruption of his proposal. Sherlock had always been his main concern. When he was gone, John was broken. But Now that he was back, John didn't know what to do about it. Two years of worry and concerns hit John like a brick wall, and he didn't like it.

It takes a while before Sherlock can pull himself up off the ground. His head hurts and John's words are racking through his brain. 'Never come in my sight again, Sherlock Holmes.'

John can't sleep that night. He wants to find Sherlock and apologize, but the damage is already done. Sherlock will avoid him at all costs, now, and John regrets everything he said. 'Never come in my sight again,Sherlock Holmes.' Why did he say that? It was a mistake.

Walking up the stairs to his flat, Sherlock can hear Ms. Hudson talking to him, though he's not listening.  
Mary is asleep, and John doesn't want to wake her. He wants to apologize, but Sherlock will avoid him. Maybe John could text him, would Sherlock respond to that? Probably not, but worth a shot. John pulled out his phone.

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I’m sorry

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I’m so sorry Sherlock

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I didn’t mean anything

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I was just upset you didn’t tell me

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Do you forgive me?  
Seen at 4:23am✓


	2. Texts from John

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I’m sorry Sherlock

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Please talk to me

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Sherlock are you okay

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Sherlock I miss you

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Please

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Sherlock please answer me I need to know

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I’m so sorry Sherlock

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I need to know if you forgive me

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Sherlock I love you

To: Dead  
From: Me  
When you were gone

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I thought about joining you I just

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Sherlock you’re the love of my life please I

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I’m so sorry for what I said I didn’t mean it

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I do want to see you

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Please answer me

To: Dead  
From: Me  
I don’t know if you’re okay

To: Dead  
From: Me  
Sherlock I love you

Seen at: 6:18pm✓


	3. Oh, John...

Sherlock lays in John’s old bed, staring at the messages as they appear on the screen. Tears pool in his ice blue eyes. Ms. Hudson walks in the room, but backed out again slowly, returning with a tub of ice cream and a spoon. Sherlock accepts them silently.

John watches his phone nervously. Sherlock saw the texts, why wasn’t he responding? Oh god, John fucked up. He really truly messed up the only actual relationship he cared about in his life. No, there was Mary. Mary was good. Mary was safe, and kind, and helpful, and… dull. John shook his head. Don’t think about that, John. It will make you miss Sherlock more. Don’t, John. Just don’t. It ends badly, always does, you know you moved on but you didn’t oh fuck John what have you done-

Sherlock watches the text appear on his phone. His thumbs move.

To: John  
From: Me  
I understand.

He pauses, his finger hovering over the “send” button. He presses on the text.

“Are you sure you want to delete this text?” the phone reads.

Sherlock nods to himself and deletes the text. It goes on like this for a while. The buzz of Sherlock’s phone is the only sound in the room, Sherlock finishes his ice cream. The tear tracks on his face dry and flake, Sherlock doesn’t notice. John… What does he say to this? John hurt him more than Sherlock wants to admit. Mary… even her presence burns him. And then John saying he never wants to see him again? Sherlock is back to worthless.

What did John do? He didn’t remember. The blood pooling down his arms told a completely different story than what he’d like to believe. Pain. Thoughts. Anger. John stood up, shaking as he ran his left arm under the tap. Was Mary up? John hoped not. Mary didn’t deserve to deal with his mental problems. Why did he decide to get engaged to her? That wasn’t a good idea, in hindsight.

Through his own thoughts, John couldn’t hear Mary in the doorway, screaming bloody murder.  
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU DO, JOHN? WHAT DID YOU DO? OH MY FUCKING GOD, DO I NEED TO CALL AN AMBULANCE? FUCKING HELL, JOHN!” John jumps a bit. The tap is still running, pink tinged water flowing down the drain. John can feel the blood loss. He must have passed out after… whatever this was… happened. The world was fuzzy. How entertaining… Black dots covered John’s vision. The floor was rushing up to meet him and his ears were ringing. Who was laughing? Oh. He was. Hilarious. He could vaguely see Mary rushing forward before everything went silent and black. Delightful.

Sherlock was minorly concerned when the onslaught of texts halted. Of course, he just assumed that John had given up. He was probably with Mary, talking about baby names or something. Did they know about the baby? They must. But then his phone was ringing. How long had that been going on? Who… John? Sherlock picked up hesitantly. It wasn’t John on the phone… it was Mary… John passed out? Sherlock blanked. He only heard parts of what Mary was saying. John needed his help… He was on his way. He hung up on Mary’s concerned babble and swooped out of the flat.

It takes him a bit before finally, finally, he’s at the hospital. Of course Mary would bring John to the hospital. She wasn’t a complete imbecile. Shoving the doors open, Sherlock’s ice blue eyes dart around. No Mary, but there seems to be a panic. John’s been here. They’re getting him stabilized. Probably. It’s all a little hazy.

“I need to see John Watson!” Sherlock almost shouts at the woman at the front desk. She jumps and stares at him somewhat angrily.  
“ Are you family?” She asks in a very condescending manner.  
“ You’d better hope so. Otherwise I’ll tell your employer about you sleeping with four of the nurses. And you’d really better hope that he isn’t as homophobic as he seems.” The woman pales and nods. She stands up and leads him down the hall to A&E, where Mary is standing in the hall pacing nervously. “ Is he all right?” Sherlock’s voice was neutral.

“ I don’t know. He started laughing and passed out. Blood loss and shock." Mary’s voice, on the other hand, was shaken and scared. Sherlock nodded. He looked in the room. John was laying on the bed, and he looked so frail, nothing like what John should. John should stand strong and defiant, as he always did. John… Sherlock shook his head and backed away from the room. John was too painful right now. Sherlock nodded to Mary and left. Mary watched in sadness as Sherlock left his best friend for dead. What happened between them?

Sherlock sighed quietly, unnoticeable to the average person. Moriarty, though, was not the average person.

“ Did you miss me?” Moriarty whispers as he steers Sherlock into an alleyway. Sherlock doesn’t show any signs of being startled, but Moriarty knows. “ Oh, Sherlock, don’t think I couldn’t have found you at any point. You’re just a sitting duck, and John is the target. You don’t think I didn’t have anything to do with that?” Sherlock stiffened.

“ You miserable son of a-” Sherlock felt a needle pierce his neck and inject something before the world started to spin. “ No-” He blacked out.


	4. Sherlock!

John was a bit confused when he woke up in the hospital. The casts on his arms didn’t help with anything. What had he done… last night? How long had he been in here? Long enough. John pushed himself out of the bed, only to be detained by Mary and a nurse he had never seen before. He was pushed gently back into bed, against his protests that he couldn’t hear. His ears were ringing. Where was Sherlock? Sherlock…. Sherlock…. John was having difficulty breathing. Where the hell was Sherlock? Mary looked concerned…. Sherlock? John’s vision swam with…. Something. Even half conscious, John’s doctor instincts told him that that was very much not good. But… where was Sherlock bloody Holmes? Where was his best friend, lover, only person John ever trusted fully? Sherlock…. Everything went dark for John.

Sherlock was more than a little pissed. Why the hell had Moriarty kidnapped him? It’s not like he had anything to give Moriarty. No… Moriarty was after Mary, wasn’t he? Why? Sherlock blinked. Oh. He was awake? That complicates things a wee bit. Sherlock closed his eyes and tugged against the restraints on his arms. Oh. There were restraints. Unsurprising. And a collar. Boring, Moriarty. Boring. Nothing interesting here. The location… somewhere near Cardiff, judging by the scent of river. Cardiff had a very.. Particular.. Smell. Cold. Lack of feeling in his arms, possible side effect from the sedative that was administered. Sherlock opened his eyes. Little to no light, warehouse, closed door. Moriarty was standing behind and to the left of him. Holding… sounds like a branding prod or a tazer, Sherlock was rather poor at identifying things like that. How uncreative of him.  
“ Moriarty.”

“ Sherlock.” Not Moriarty. That voice sounded very familiar, though. Who….

Fuck.

Mary.

“ Aren’t you supposed to be at the hospital with your fiance?” Sherlock sneered.

“ Oh, but this is so much more entertaining. Moriarty is off doing… something. So I let myself in.” Mary sounded remarkably cheery, and Sherlock wanted to spit in her face.

“ And here I thought me hating you was just because you took my John. But it seems perfectly justified now, actually.” Sherlock smiled grimly. Bloody interfering Mycroft might be helpful, for once. “ oh, tychariohardious.”

“ What?”

“ Lung disease.”

“ If you’re trying to activate that troublesome chip in your wrist, Moriarty removed it.” Dammit. There goes one plan. It also explains the lack of feeling in his arms- numbed so he didn’t know they got rid of it. Damn.

John was dreaming. He must be. It looked like a warehouse, Sherlock chained up, and Mary… Oh god, Mary holding a cattle brand. They seemed to be arguing, but John couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t hear anything. It was a bit frightening, but why..? Oh god, oh god, oh god, was Mary burning Sherlock? What were those other scars? John could feel himself waking up, and it felt like being pulled backwards at immense speed from that location. John got a glance of the warehouse, and he could identify it, it was in Cardiff, and then he was back in his hospital bed… where was Mary? John looked around the closet like space he was in. No Mary to be seen. Fuck. Lestrade was standing by the bed looking incredibly awkward, and John immediately latched onto him.  
“ Where’s Mary? And Sherlock? I need to know now, Greg.”

“ How should I-”

“ Ask your bloody boyfriend, Mycroft.” Lestrade turned an interesting shade of pink, but pulled out his phone and dialed.

“ Hey, Myc? I know you’re working, but John wants-”

“ Needs!”

“- to know where Sherlock and Mary are.” Lestrade listened for a second his eyes widening at what Mycroft said. “ Okay, love, have a good day. Tell me if you get any updates.” Lestrade turned to John, looking a bit shocked.

“ Mycroft doesn’t know.”

 


	5. No... Not again.

John stared at Greg for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“ What?” John whispered.

“ He doesn’t know.” Lestrade looked worried. “ Says Sherlock went missing last night and Mary a few hours ago. Do you have any ideas?”

“ Maybe.” John leaned back in his bed and sighed. “ Possibly Cardiff, but I’m not sure.”

“ Cardiff?”

“ Just try it.” Greg pulled out his phone again and texted Mycroft.

From: Myc  
To: Me  
Why Cardiff?

 

From: Me  
To: Myc  
John suggested it

Lestrade put his phone back in his pocket, semi-reassured that Mycroft would do something about it.

Sherlock was unconscious again. Mary had burned him several more times, leaving permanent scars on his back. Or they would be scars, if they healed.

Mary threw the cattle prod across the warehouse and began unstringing Sherlock. He fell, limp, onto a furniture dolly underneath. He groaned, but didn’t rouse.

Sirens sounded, and Mary shoved Sherlock along, through a disused back way.

Sherlock didn’t wake up until they were on a train, headed off to some place where Mycroft had no reign.

John was in a frenzied panic when they found traces of Sherlock’s blood in a warehouse, on a recently used cattle prod. John felt sick. What had they done to him?

On the plus side, they found Moriarty.

Dead.

He had his brains splattered along a wall before he was thrown into a dumpster some distance away. John was somewhat grateful for the fact, otherwise he would have murdered him himself.

No-one takes his Sherlock. No-one takes his love.

Ever.


	6. Heading East

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of WBH's chapters so you should all read it it's amazing he's a good author

Sherlock stirs as he feels the ground moving below him. That’s odd. The ground doesn’t normally move...right? Soft breathing beside him causes him to look up, ice blue eyes wide and untamed.

 

“Mary.” He chokes out. Or at least tries to. All that comes out is “mmph”. What the hell?

 

Mary chuckles darkly when Sherlock tries to speak. “You may want to look at your reflection.” She states coldly.

 

Sherlock looks ahead and sucks in a sharp breath. He looks a mess. His unruly curls are dampened from sweat and blood and his face is cut in several places. He’s gagged with what looks to be a tie but he can’t be sure. His hands are tied behind him and his legs are - more or less - useless.

 

Mary chuckles again, wrapping her arm around Sherlock’s tender shoulders. “Poor John, huh? All wrapped up and trapped in that hospital. Oh he’s probably not even worried about you. So sorry, Sherlock. So very sorry.” Mary smirks and Sherlock feels a prick against his skin before - black again.

 

John’s breathing became even more labored as he stumbled around the warehouse, shouting Sherlock’s name. Lestrade is following close behind him so that, in the event that John passed out or anything, he would be there to be of at least some help.

 

“Sherlock! Sherlock bloody Holmes!” John shouts, stumbling over a few old crates as he does so.

 

“John, he’s not here!” Lestrade yells and grabs John’s shoulder.

 

John whips around, his eyes narrow. “I know he’s out there. He’s gotta be here somewhe-” HIs sentence is cut off by someone yelling for the two men.

 

Lestrade grimaces but leads John back out. There are more police cars than before. “We think we’ve got a lead!” an officer shouts.

 

“Where!?” John shouts back, his voice harsher than he anticipated.

 

“The tube. They’re heading East.” the officer explains.

 

John is already running to the nearest entrance before he even finishes his sentence. Lestrade runs after him, cursing and yanking out his phone to call Mycroft.

 

“Mycroft!” he starts right as the other man picks up. “They’re headed East! Can you find them?” he pants, almost tripping down the stairs as he runs.

 

There’s a moment of silence on the other line before Mycroft’s voice chimes in. “I don’t know where they are. My sources can’t find him anywhere.”

 

Lestrade gulps and thanks Mycroft quietly before hanging up. How is he going to tell John? He can’t just outright say that they can’t find Sherlock. It’ll kill him. Or Lestrade. Whoever’s closer.

  
This is bad.


	7. Mcroft doesn't know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mary's fun to write fight me

John paced around the warehouse while Lestrade texted Mycroft frantically and hoped Sherlock was okay. His phone buzzed and John pulled it out with remarkable speed.

From: Mary  
To: Me  
Hello, dearest, I hope your recovery is going delightfully.

To: Mary  
From: Me  
Mary, where are you

From: Mary  
To: Me  
Oh, I think you know.  
(one picture file attached)

John tapped the photo with shaking fingers.

Sherlock.

It was Sherlock, bound and gagged, with pus leaking from awful wounds on his back. His eyes were closed, but it didn’t look restful. His skin was a pallid colour, not quite the shade of the dead but uncomfortably close. John gasped and handed the phone to Lestrade- he had approached when John pulled his phone out. Lestrade paled significantly, then forwarded the photo to Mycroft from John’s phone.

To: Mary  
From: Me  
I am going to kill you what did you do to him

From: Mary  
To: Me  
Oh, nothing much. He’ll live. Probably. Oh, he’s waking up, gtg love.

To: Mary  
From: Me  
Don’t you dare hurt him I swear to god I will murder you myself if you do

From: Mary  
To: Me  
Oh, John, like you could ever save your little lover.He’s as good as dead, dear.

To: Mary  
From: Me  
Don’t you dare touch him

From: Mary  
To: Me  
Toodles, darling!

John threw his phone at the ground, chest heaving in anger. He was going to marry that woman! To think of the Hell he would have gone through. Lestrade jumped slightly at the burst of anger, but hesitantly picked up the phone and read the texts on the cracked screen. His eyes widened and he dropped it like it was molten.


	8. I'm not as think as you drunk I am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i legit couldn't think of a title so this happened

Lestrade texted Mycroft while John paced angrily around the warehouse.

To: Myc  
From: Me  
John is making me worried is there anything you can do

From: Myc  
To: Me  
I can’t and you know that

To: Myc  
From: Me  
I know but is there something you can give him like a sedative

From: Myc  
To: Me  
We’ll see

To: Myc  
From: Me  
Do it soon I think he’s going smack me with his IV

From: Myc  
To: Me  
Sending someone now

To: Myc  
From: Me  
Do I want to ask

From: Myc  
To: Me  
Sniper with a tranq gun

To: Myc  
From: Me  
Ah. See you at home, love.

From: Myc  
To: Me  
Yes, you too.

Lestrade sighed, of course the Iceman wouldn’t show affection through text. John groaned in exasperation.  
“ Why isn’t Mycroft helping?”  
“ He is.” Lestrade spotted the sniper crawling along the rafters, and he felt his phone buzz.

From: Myc  
To: Me  
That’s not my sniper get out now

“ John, duck now!” Lestrade yelled as the sniper aimed at John and nearly pulled the trigger. John dropped to the floor, his IV ripping out, and the shot ringing through the warehouse. John army crawled along the floor, setting out of the way of the sniper. Lestrade dove behind a heap of boxes and crawled towards John.

Mary wasn’t even close to done tormenting Sherlock. She tied him, wounded back down, to a bed of heated nails. He woke up screaming in agony.

Mary laughed.

She put in earbuds and pulled out something that looked an awful lot like an ancient torture device that produced a very high pitched noise that was calibrated not to make one go deaf, but to torture by sound.

It was.

Sherlock’s chest heaved, he couldn’t hear his own screams. Mary was smiling when everything faded to black oblivion.


	9. The archives on John

John glared at Lestrade around the boxes they were hiding behind. The sniper reloaded his gun and crawled along the rafters, but John and Lestrade were gone.

 

Sherlock regained consciousness a few hours later, having been removed from the bed of nails and moved. He blinked, then blinked again. Everything was white. Sherlock pulled at his arms, to no avail. What..? Oh. Strait jacket. Sherlock looked down. Also completely white. This torture. Excellent. Mycroft and he would experiment with this torment when either of them was bored. He knew exactly how to not be affected by it.

 

John was falling behind Lestrade. The blood loss was really affecting him, then. Dammit. Lestrade turned, and upon seeing John lagging, ducked into an alleyway. John sighed and followed.

 

Sherlock wandered through his mind palace, whistling a cheerful tune John often liked to hum. Redbeard wandered by his side, and Sherlock looped his arm with the mind palace John. He wasn’t quite as lovely or amazing as real John, but Sherlock made do.

 

Lestrade stared at John oddly until John snapped at him to ask what was on his mind.

 

“ Why was there a gunman after us?”

 

“ How IN BLOODY HELL SHOULD I KNOW?” John near shouted, but caught himself somewhat. Lestrade frowned.

 

“ Maybe this was sent by the same person as last time?”

 

“ Moriarty is dead, Magnussen is dead, I don’t know who else you expect to do this.” John sighed. “ I wish I knew who this was because I think it’s Mary.”

 

“ Your fiance? ” Lestrade was incredulous.

“ Hopefully not anymore. I’m calling off the marriage for obvious reasons.” John managed a grim smile, and Greg chuckled.

 

“ Obvious indeed.”

 

Sherlock sighed and started exploring his archives on John. His facial expressions, his moods, his laughter, how he prefered his tea, Sherlock loved all of it.

 

And Sherlock really hoped he would live to hear the laughter again, to make John tea, to just be with him.


	10. Tut, tut.

John rubbed at his arm where he yanked out the IV. Greg was leaned against the alley wall across from him, watching the roof line. They hadn’t seen the sniper for a while, luckily, but John and Greg both were a bit shaken up from the experience.

 

To: Myc

From: Me

Mycroft, who’s sniper was that?

 

From: Myc

To: Me

Not sure. We captured him, you can leave the alley now.

 

Lestrade sighed a bit and lead John out of the alley and started walking in the general direction of scotland yard. John followed slowly, his limp had returned. Fucking blood loss.

 

Sherlock actually felt the colour seeping out of his mind palace. He had been locked in this stupid white room for longer than he ever had been, and colour was starting to be an illusion. During one of the less watched days, he managed to loosen the strait jacket until he could easily slip out at a moment’s notice.

“ Hello, Sherlock. How do you find our lovely establishment?” Mary sounded incredibly cheerful, and Sherlock cracked open an eye to stare at her.

 

“ Quite lovely. Could use a bit of redecorating, though.” Mary frowned.

 

“ Tut, tut. Would have thought you were more affected by this. Oh well, I do have a-” Sherlock lunged out of his jacket, hands out to strangle the woman who took his John, only to be stopped by one of her henchmen tazing him. The ass. One of the most known rules of fighting was never taze Sherlock. Sherlock turned, ripping the taser wires out and throwing them at Mary. She jumped and screamed slightly. Sherlock continued his path, feeling the electricity messing his muscles up slightly, but he managed to get his hands around Mary’s neck before he fell.

 

John stumbled into the building, collapsing onto the nearest bench in Scotland Yard. Greg turned, but decided to leave John where he was while he filed a report.

 

To: Mary

From: Me

What have you done

 

From: Mary

To: Me

Oh, nothing much. Your _boyfriend_ tried to strangle me, as ya’ do.

 

To: Mary

From: Me

You should be glad I didn’t, you miserable son of a bitch.

 

From: Mary

To: Me

Oh, poor John. Like you could lay a hand on me.

  
John growled angrily. How dare she? How dare she taunt him with his Sherlock? She was going to die when he got his hands on her.


	11. Strappado

Sherlock snapped back into consciousness, incredibly annoyed and trying to figure out what was happening this time. He didn’t seem to be in any excess pain, his back was still incredibly infected, likely with pieces of broken glass and rope stuck in it. The ligh ts were dimmed, and Sherlock sighed gratefully. Mary came storming in a few seconds later, turning on the harsh lights and blinding Sherlock.

“ You have caused me endless trouble, Mr. Holmes. Do you know what I plan to do to you?” She glared and slapped him when he didn’t answer. “ I said, do you know what I plan to do with you?” Sherlock lay resolutely, briefly filing away the fact he was in fact laying down. Mary hissed in anger and slapped him again, clawing at his face with her newly sharpened nails. Sherlock didn’t flinch, but he could feel the sting and already forming welts. He was minorly surprised, though, when he felt a warm trickle leak out of one of the wounds. Blood? Fan-fucking-tastic. He already had lost plenty of blood from the wounds on his back, so the loss of even a bit of the precious liquid could be the difference between success and death.

John stormed into Lestrade’s office, nearly foaming at the mouth in anger. He nearly threw his phone at Greg, instead almost smashing it again on the desk.

“ What the Hell do you plan on doing to save Sherlock?” Greg was suddenly very grateful for the large and very heavy desk between him and John Watson.

“ I contacted Mycroft, he’s doing all he can.”

“ THAT’S NOT FUCKING ENOUGH, GREG!” John exploded. Greg shifted back in his chair slightly. “ MY SHERLOCK, THE ONE WHOM I LOVE, TRULY LOVE, IS BEING HELD CAPTIVE BY AN INSANE WOMAN WHO HAPPENS TO BE MY FIANCE! SO NO, YOUR BEST IS NOT ENOUGH!” John Watson, of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, was beyond upset by now. The blood loss, his inability to help, was nearly sending him over the edge anyways, so this bullshit from Greg was just the final straw.

Mary huffed when she saw Sherlock wasn’t going to respond to her. She rolled her eyes and sauntered out, waving a pair of her cronies in to do whatever she had planned. The men smirked and retrieved various roped to apparently tie Sherlock’s wrists and… Ah. Strappado. The ‘reverse hanging’, or the act of publicly tying someone up by their wrists and hanging them as such. The question most prominent in Sherlock’s mind, though, was if they were to do it traditionally, where they would string up Sherlock. They men tied a blindfold over Sherlock’s eyes, fairly tightly, they obviously weren’t concerned about his utmost well being. They also shoved something in his ear, which did send Sherlock squirming away, taping it in so it wouldn’t fall out. Sherlock was dragged to his feet and tugged along what seemed to be a hallway. He was barefoot, though Sherlock couldn’t place when that happened.

Lestrade ended up sneakily texting Mycroft while John paced and shouted in his office.

To: Myc  
From: Me  
Can we try again with the sedative?

To: Myc  
From: Me  
He’s screaming that nothing is enough until we get his Sherlock back….

From: Myc  
To: Me  
I redirected the earlier sedater in your direction five minutes ago. There is no sniper within the vicinity whom is not mine.

To: Myc  
From: Me  
Thanks love.

From: Myc  
To: Me  
Yes dear.

Lestrade slipped the phone back in his pocket to see John glaring at him with immense fury and some regret.

“ Shouldn’t have shouted at you.”  
“ It’s fine, really.” Greg managed a thin lipped smile before a needle was shot into the back of John’s neck.

“ WHAT THE HELL IS THI-” John wavered, pulling the fluffed dart out and staring at it before shooting a bleary glare in Lestrade’s direction. Lestrade hopped to his feet just in time to catch the smaller man. John still looked angry in his sleep, which Greg thought was somewhat funny, but a text from Mycroft informed him there was a car outside for him and John.

Sherlock automatically tried to memorize the route, even if it held no use, mapping it out in his mind palace. They were heading in a mostly... Eastern? Route, Sherlock noted. They reached what seemed to be a lift, and Sherlock was shoved in roughly. The lift went up several floors, by Sherlock’s calculations, and when they reached the top it was considerably cooler than wherever they had been storing Sherlock. Possibly outdoors, considering the slight but insistant breeze. The men loaded him in some form of a car and began driving at a pace Sherlock couldn’t memorize the route at.


	12. John never loved you, never has.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAHA so after this one chapters are gonna slow down to one a day
> 
> I really enjoy writing this it's my child also my friend Nocacon, who you may know as EBCM(she hasn't written anything yet but imma make her do that) is very helpful with planning tortures it's surprisingly fun

Greg dragged John out to the waiting car with little difficulty. The smaller man didn’t weigh much, and Greg managed to shuffle him into the back seat with only minimal effort. Anthea was waiting and helped settle John into the center seat, and Greg squeezed in next to him. The ride to 221B was uneventful. John snored slightly and began to struggle against the seat belt, apparently having a nightmare. He woke briefly once crying out for Sherlock. Greg managed to comfort him until he fell back asleep.

 

Sherlock was lead out of the car and roughly pulled up a flight of stairs. The men chuckled between each other, one of them pinching Sherlock’s behind. Sherlock jumped slightly and pulled against the restraints on his wrists. The man laughed, an ugly and harsh sound. The stairs ended, sending Sherlock stumbling. The wind was chilled, and Sherlock recognized the smell of the Cardiff river. Were they… no. They wouldn’t. Not over the river. One of the henchmen tugged on the rope, leading Sherlock closer to the edge of what seemed to be a roof.  The rope tugged slightly, not enough to drag Sherlock anywhere but enough to notify him that something was going to happen, just before a rough shove sent him barreling over the edge of the building and dangling over the river. Sherlock screamed as he felt his arms wrench out of his sockets. He was stuck hanging over the edge for a while until the second torture started. Mary’s voice filled his ear through what he assumed was an earpiece that was stuck in earlier.

 

“ John never cared. He’s not looking for his beloved Sherlock. He’s not looking for you. You never mattered.” Then it was John’s voice. 

 

“ Get out of my sight, Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock flinched away from the voice. Then Mary was back, saying the same things over and over.

 

This was the worst torture by far. John, his John, saying that it didn’t matter, Sherlock was nothing, he didn’t care…

 

John woke from his nightmare in bed. How the hell did he get here? The last thing he remembered was Lestrade’s office. Oh. Mycroft. Dammit. John stretched, noting that it didn’t feel like he got any rest. He could slightly recall snippets of the cab ride, Anthea and Lestrade trying to get him to stop freaking out. The nightmares… they weren’t his normal PTSD dreams, they were Sherlock… Oh, god. 

 

Sherlock felt his mind going numb and painful as Mary’s taunts got behind his defenses and he began believing them. John never cared, did he? Was he even looking for him? Sherlock started to doubt his overwhelming faith in John. The audio bit of John telling Sherlock to get out of his sight was only worsening him.

 

Why had he ever trusted in John?

 

Why had he thought he would be okay?

 

Why had he ever thought John cared about him?

 

John never cared.

John never thought he was worth anything besides a parlor trick.

 

John wasn’t his John anymore, he was someone else.

 

John was turning into Mycroft.

 

The villain of the story.

 

John was the villain.

 

Hadn’t he always been?

 

Sherlock shivered, feeling tears leak out of his eyes and soak into the blindfold. He could feel the cool spray from the river below him on his feet. It was the only touch of reality he could actually distract himself with. John… wasn’t a villain… John was his… John never cared. Sherlock was full on sobbing. How dare Mary do this to him. How dare she make the only person he  _ cared  _ about the bad guy. She was going to die for this.

 

Sherlock was sure of it.

 

If he got out of this.

 

John shuffled out of the bed he was in to find Greg on the sofa, texting someone. He glanced up.

 

“ Oh, you’re awake.”

 

“ Can we go back to Cardiff to look for Sherlock?” John was still a little sleepy, but Sherlock was the only thing on his mind. Lestrade sighed, but agreed. He resumed texting, and a few moments later glanced back down.

 

“ We have a car waiting.” John nodded, he had his shoes on and was waiting by the door with… Sherlock’s coat on. Greg smiled softly. John really was lost without his other half. 

 

The car was quiet the entire ride there, Greg texting Mycroft and John staring at the river. They were passing the warehouse where the originally looked when something caught his eye.

 

“ Stop for a sec.” The car obediently pulled over, and John clambered out to go look. Something was hanging over the river from the roof. It looked like a large sack from first glance, but when John looked closer it was a person. Hanging by their wrists. “ Greg! Greg, get over here!” John was running to the warehouse and heard someone, Lestrade, begin following him.  John bounded up a flight of stairs to the roof, slowing to a walk to where the rope was tied.

 

“ John, who is…” John turned, ashen faced, and Greg’s eyes widened. “ Is it Sherlock?” John nodded and turned back to the rope.

 

“ Sherlock, baby, I’m here. We’re here. You’re going to be okay. Greg, get over here and help me with this rope!” Greg walked over to where John was standing and they started heaving it up, John cringing at the pained sounds coming from the edge of the roof. They managed to get Sherlock over the edge, and suddenly John was clutching Sherlock close and sobbing. Sherlock was gasping, and John reached up with a shaking hand to lift Sherlock’s blindfold. Sherlock blinked and winced at the light, and John was so astounded and hurt that someone hurt his Sherlock like this. John looked at Sherlock’s hands, wincing at the dislocated shoulders and gently setting them. Sherlock screamed slightly, and John winced.

 

“ John…” Sherlock’s voice was croaky. John stopped and sat in front of him. He was slightly concerned when Sherlock didn’t meet his eyes.

 

“ I’m here. I’m finally here.” John whispered, not caring about his tears.

 

“ I…. I… You do love me, right?” Of all the questions, John was not expecting that.

 

“ Sherlock, what on earth made you think I didn’t?”

 

“ Mary. Sherlock responded simple, pulling off a wad of tape over his ear and pulling out what seemed to be an earbud. Sherlock winced as he moved his arms, and John was quick to take the earbud so Sherlock didn’t have to move his arms any more than he had to. He placed the earbud close to his ear, and his eyes widened.

 

It was Mary’s voice, saying John didn’t love Sherlock, never did, and so forth. John stared at the ear piece in shock. Greg coughed.

 

“ Sorry to interupt, but Sherlock, you need to go to the hospital. Now.” Greg was eyeing Sherlock’s back warily, and John finally looked.

 

Blood was soaking through the thin cloth, but it was a dark and ugly shade of brown red. Yellow fluids dripped alongside, and John gasped. That was a hell of an infection.

 

“ Did Mary do this?” Sherlock nodded, still not looking John in the eye. John figured that was usual, considering the amount of mental and physical torment Sherlock just went through. Greg and John helped Sherlock up, supporting him on either side before leading him down the stairs and to the car. Sherlock winced as he sat, causing concerned glances from both John and Lestrade. Sherlock shook his head and remained silent the entire ride to A&E, only clutching John’s hand with all his might. John didn’t let go.

 

They got to the hospital within a few minutes, Lestrade having already told Mycroft about finding Sherlock. They were bustled into a smallish room, Sherlock not letting go of John’s hand. Someone cut Sherlock’s shirt off very carefully, making sure not to jostle his arms. John flinched at the sight of Sherlock’s back. Swollen and bloodied burn scars, half healed, pus sluggishly draining from one of the largest wounds. But what disturbed John the most was the fact the scars were in the form of Mary’s signature. It was burned in cursive, ending in a flourish. Small bits of glass and fragments of rope could be seen if you examined closely. 

 

Mycroft entered the room silently, and froze when he saw Sherlock’s back. He paled and turned his head away from the gruesome sight. Lestrade looked up and saw him, walking around the hospital bench to hug Mycroft against his chest. Mycroft shuddered.

  
He was going to find Mary Morstan and  _ kill  _ her for what she did to his little brother.


	13. He only trusts John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhaha lookit there it is did i update yesterday idk but here's a chapter

Sherlock was lying facedown on a steel table, having the chunks of glass ripped out by none other than his John Watson. Other doctors had tried to get the glass out, but Sherlock would start twitching and eventually leap off the table and curl up in the corner after a few minutes until John tried. Sherlock stayed absolutely still the entire time while John was working, leaving most of the other doctors confused and Mycroft in stunned silence. 

The only one Sherlock trusted.

John Watson.

After John got everything out of Sherlock’s back and cleaned it, to help get rid of the infection, Sherlock had fallen asleep. He was beautiful, but he wasn’t restful. John sat next to Sherlock’s bed, reading a book and holding Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock jolted awake at some point, eyes blown wide and terrified, staring around the room in horror until his eyes rested on John and his hands. Sherlock looked up, but he still couldn’t meet John’s eyes.

John was slightly upset about that, but he ran his thumb over Sherlock’s knuckles soothingly. Sherlock shuddered and lay back down, slipping back into his unrestful sleep within a few moments. John smiled sadly at his beautiful lover.

Mycroft knocked hesitantly. He had cameras, so he knew that it wasn’t a terrible time to interrupt. He opened the door and stepped in, blinking at John. John tilted his head in question, not letting go of Sherlock’s hand.

“ I figured I should get to know you better if you are the only person Sherlock truly trusts at this time.”

“ You figured? Mycroft, you know me pretty well, considering the level of cameras Sherlock found in my room when I asked.” Mycroft sighed.

“ You know what I mean.”

“ No, I really don’t.” John turned down to look at his hand when Sherlock tightened his grip. He glanced back up at Mycroft, his no-nonsense-Watson face on. Mycroft rubbed his forehead in annoyance. 

“ My brother… Likes very few people. You are one of them. Considering this fact, I do wish to make sure you know that if you hurt him in any way, physically or mentally, there will be repercussions from me. Am I clear?”

“ What I’m not clear on is why you think it necessary to tell me this, Mycroft. I love Sherlock, more than you may think. Remember after the funeral, when I sat there for a few hours? Oh, shush, I know you were spying on me. Yeah, that was the first time I contemplated killing myself and joining Sherlock. Do you think I would hurt him?” John’s voice was growing softer and seemingly more and more pissed off. Mycroft stepped back.

“ You do realise that if you tried to kill yourself someone would have stopped you and informed you Sherlock was still alive.” John tilted his head and smiled grimly, making sure Mycroft knew that he should leave now. So he did.

Sherlock stirred slightly, pulling John’s hand closer. John smiled and resumed reading his book.


	14. You can't be in there, sir.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I HAS RETURNED FROM ZA DED

John glanced up from his book to the nurse entering the room. She looked fairly apologetic, and John frowned, suddenly concerned something was wrong with Sherlock.

 

“ Is there something you need?” She hesitated slightly.

 

“ Sir, we can’t let you stay in here with the patient.”

 

Mycroft was furious when he heard the hospital had kicked John out of Sherlock’s room. Didn’t the idiots realise John was crucial for Sherlock’s recovery? He stormed into the sterile building, marching past the doctors who tried to detain him. Mycroft stopped, though, when he saw a pair of nurses trying to hold none other than John watson from having a go at one of the doctors, who was trying desperately to explain that he just  _ couldn’t  _ be in there with Sherlock. 

 

“ What the bloody  _ hell  _ do you think you’re doing?!” The doctor froze turning to look at him.

 

“ He can’t be in there for sanitary reasons!” Mycroft turned an unusual shade of mauve and stepped forward just one more step. 

 

“ If you think that John Watson is a sanitary threat, than you are sorely mistaken.” Mycroft hissed in a dangerously quiet voice. The iceman was never one to show emotion, but this was stressful enough to melt even the coldest walls he put up.

 

“ I- Sir- But-” Mycroft tilted his head,  before smacking the poor man as hard as he could. The doctor stumbled back, and Mycroft turned to the nurses.

 

“ I recommend you let Dr. Watson back into this hospital room before I have you fired and illegible for any other jobs aside from janitor.”  The nurses released John, one of them staring at Mycroft with contempt.

 

“ Who exactly are you, if I may ask?”

 

“ Mycroft Holmes. I run the british government.” The girl paled slightly, but did not back down.

 

“ May I see your credentials?” Mycroft sighed in annoyance, pulling out his wallet and proceeding to withdraw a fair stack of cards. He hands them to her, smiling at her wide eyes and shocked expression.

 

“ Is that enough  _ credentials _ for you? I have plenty more if you wish.” The girl shakily handed the stack back to him before backing down the hall. John turned to watch her for a second before turning back to Mycroft.

 

“ That was… Something.” Mycroft smirked slightly and tilted his head. John nodded and stepped forward to open Sherlock’s door.

 

It was empty- Sherlock was gone.


	15. CONTEST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO. We have hidden a reference to a different story not very subtly but if you find it, tell us the work, chapter, and line and you will win the chance to: either appear as an OC in the background; or have a say in what happens in the next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: WE ARE NOT WRITING THE NEXT CHAPTER UNLESS SOMEONE CATCHES THE REFERENCE AND TELLS US(Here's a quick hint for ya: Greta.)

Sherlock stumbled, blinded by tears and hampered by the bandaging on his back. John had deserted him. Sherlock had woken up a few minutes after the doctors had made John leave the room, and upon finding himself alone, had panicked. Where was John? Was he okay? Why wasn’t he here? Didn’t he know that Sherlock couldn’t stay there without him?  Sherlock waited a few minutes, but when John didn’t come back, he had up and left.

 

John was freaking out. He searched the entire hospital on foot, refusing Mycroft’s help, then proceeded to pace Sherlock’s room until Mycroft slapped him. John stared at him for a minute before dropping onto the hospital bed. He pulled his knees up to his face and rocked back and forth.

 

Sherlock briefly considered going back to 221B, but decided against it. Mary’s words, although meaningless, were still haunting Sherlock. John didn’t care… Never did… How dare she do this to him. How dare she ruin John Watson for him. The neighbors averted their eyes from the skin blobs flapping in the wind like graceful sails as he ran. Sherlock stumbled into a narrow alley, holding his side and groaning.

 

Mycroft didn’t know what to do when John started making a high pitched noise resembling a scream. He patted John awkwardly. John flinched away, the shriek increasing in volume, much to Mycroft’s chargian. One of the doctors glanced into the room, pausing at the sight of two men, one rocking back and forth and screaming, the other trying to comfort him 

 

“ Do you boys need anything?” Mycroft glanced at him.

 

“ Yes. We need a medium syringe of  clonazepam and a black coffee.” The doctor nodded, frowning a bit.

 

Sherlock slid down the wall, wincing at the movement against his back. He couldn’t go to the flat, Mycroft wouldn’t be any help what so ever, but maybe Lestrade…

 

The doctor returned with the syringe and the mug of coffee, handing them both to Mycroft. Mycroft sipped the coffee, grimacing at the flavor, before turning and stabbing John in the neck with the syringe. John squeaked and froze.


	16. Sherlock... John?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SIGH  
> I GIVE IN  
> I was really bored and ehh people probably won't expect an update of this shit soo
> 
> Here we are
> 
> No-one sent in the reference, so I'll tell you what it was: 'The Introduction of Steven', a chapter in WAYHL. Sherlock's 'skin blobs flapping in the wind like graceful sails' was a direct quote from that chapter, when Greta was running down the street. I though it seemed appropriate, Winchesterbyheart agreed, so we added it. 
> 
> There we go.

 Sherlock knocked on the door hesitantly, hoping against hope Lestrade hadn't invited people over for tea, as he was known to do. It would have been a bit difficult to explain to John himself why he ran from the hospital, but he was annoyingly sure Mycroft understood  _perfectly._ The arse.

 

Lestrade opened the door, freezing in surprise at the incredibly guilty looking Sherlock on his stoop muttering to himself.

 

" Sherlock? Bloody hell, aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

 

" I.." Sherlock coughed, startled by how hoarse and unused his voice was. He settled on nodding pitifully.

 

" Where's John?" Sherlock shook his head, and Lestrade sighed, but opened the door wider. " Well, come in then. Nothing much I can do for you, bleeding idiot." 

 

/////////////////

 

John woke up in a hospital bed of his own,stuck to an IV and suitably annoyed at Mycroft, but the panic attack had passed. Anthea was sat next to the bed, playing with her phone and not really paying attention to him.

 

" Morning, Dr. Watson."

 

" How long."

 

" Pardon?"

 

" How. Long. Has. Sherlock. Been missing?" John growled through his teeth, feeling Captain Watson start to emerge.

 

" A few days, but we have tabs on his location. He's being cared for."

 

" I need to see him."

 

" I'm sorry Dr. Watson. You can't."

 

" Why not?" John felt his hand twitch against the sheets.

 

" Direct orders from-"

 

" The queen, I'm sure."

 

" Mycroft."

 

" The queen. " John smiled grimly, reliving the brief memory of him and Sherlock in Buckingham Palace. He still had the ashtray. Anthea rolled her eyes, but nodded. 

 

" Why am I not allowed to see my Sherlock?" John didn't even notice the possessive tone to the statement until Anthea raised an eyebrow. 

 

" Until he stops screaming for it Mary to 'end him already'." John paled.

 

" He... What? Why did that happen?"

 

" Apparently the person he sought refuge with said something. And then his ongoing mental breakdown happened."

 

" I need to see him. I don't care what Miss Mycroft says." Anthea had the faintest hint of a smile.

 

" He said you might say that."


	17. Fucking-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY GUESS WHOS BACK WITH A FUCK TON OF ANGST PLANNED FOR YA
> 
> so you remember that sortof fluffy(cough less angsty cough) chapter on WAYHL? 
> 
> Yeah, that i in no way happening here. 
> 
> I am going to kill both of them eventually. After making you suffer as much as possible. 
> 
> Because I am satan. 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS also s4 amiright holy fuck

Sherlock couldn't see anything. Why couldn't he see anything? What was happening? He couldn't hear anything, either, but that was.. why was he screaming? He could feel the painful sobbing being ripped from his throat, but for the life of him he couldn't remember why. Something about someone names John..? What the hell was his brain on about? He could see some strange man running around his mind palace, trying desperately to open one of the doors, but it just wouldn't.. Who was that?

 

Could that be the alleged John he could feel himself screaming about? Must be some hell of a man if he had a mind palace alternate. 

 

" Who are you?" Sherlock must have said that out loud, but he could hear it addressed to the man trying valiantly to pull open that door. But the door was stuck, and the man didn't answer. 

 

" Please, who are you?" Was he saying that out loud? What an interesting phenomenon... The man just struggled harder to pull open the door. 

 

" Can I help?" The man finally turned to face him.

 

" I'm afraid you're the only one who can open this door, Sherlock. You're holding it shut." That voice was tantalizingly familiar, but Sherlock struggled so much to place it. 

 

" Am I? Why would I be doing that?"

 

" You're going to have to find out yourself, Sherlock."

 

" But I-" The man vanished. Sherlock stepped up to the door. What was behind that door? Sherlock reached forward with trembling fingers, but was stopped by something. It stung, and Sherlock gasped and jumped back. He could still feel himself screaming for some John character, and he knew that the answer to why was behind that door somehow...

 

He reached forward again. The shock of the sting was less that time, and Sherlock pushed as hard as he could against the door.

 

It swung open.

 

Everything Sherlock knew about John Hamish Watson flooded over him. It was in both parts soothing and terrifying, because there was just  _so much information._ And it hurt. Why did John Watson hurt Sherlock? 

 

Mary. 

 

That was there, too, and Sherlock could hear himself again, and images of John and Mary flickered over his eyes as he screamed for John to help, to please help him, to love Sherlock again, to make the hurt go away, for it all to be done and over with...

 

And then he was there. Wonderful, magical, John Hamish Watson was there and he just collapsed and started full on sobbing. He could feel John clutching Sherlock tighter to him, and Sherlock cried harder. This man loved him, of course he did, what Mary said was a lie. Always was.

 

But it wasn't John, was it? Sherlock opened his eyes. Was it John? It might have been John. 

 

" Oh, Sherlock..." He could feel that being mumbled into his hair, and it was John, it was always John, why wouldn't it be John?

 

And then suddenly he was gone, and Sherlock was alone, and Sherlock hated himself for the little whimper he let escape and then the welcome warpth of darkness swelled up and pulled him under.


	18. Ashes, Ashes

Sherlock didn't know where he was.

 

It seemed to be a courtroom, wide and airy, thousands of empty seats surrounding him.

 

" Sherloooockk... " Mycroft?

 

" Why am I here?"

 

" You know why." Sherlock closed his eyes in an attempt to figure out why he  _was_ here.

 

" I really don't."

 

" Oh, Sherlock, naughty Sherlock, you've made Mummy angry..." 

 

" I haven't!" Sherlock's voice was that of a child.

 

" You have, you went and got John hurt, Mummy is very displeased with you for it."

 

" I didn't!" Mycroft's voice was louder, washing over him. 

 

" You did." Moriarty was whistling in the background.

 

" Aw, did baby Sherlock do a baaaaaaaad?" Sherlock's head whipped around. There he was. Sprawled over one of the chairs behind him, chewing gum with an almost mocking intensity. 

 

" I did no such thing!" And then he was at Barts, on the ground, and John, lovely, lovely John was posed to jump.  _" No!"_ Mycroft tutted, and Moriarty laughed. 

 

John fell in slow motion.

 

" Aw, Naughty Sherlock, this is how John must have felt when  _you_ jumped." Moriarty laughed uproariously.

 

" I..." John hit the ground and then Sherlock was back in the courtroom. Only this time, John's body was face up on the floor. Unseeing and bleeding sluggishly. Sherlock couldn't move. 

 

" I always was the smart one. I knew this would affect him like this."

 

" You told me to do it!"

 

" I didn't think you would."

 

_Ring around the roses.._

 

" Why didn't you stop me?"

 

_Pocket full of posies.._

 

" I always was the smart one."

 

_Ashes, ashes.._

 

" No!"

 

_We all fall.._

" Poor, stupid little Sherlock."

 

_Down._


End file.
